The Granger Compendium
by foxe165
Summary: All one-shots. Most will involve Hermione Granger. Many different pairings, plots, storylines. Some will be magical, some will be AU. Majority will be OOC - and will be explained! Rating is for possible language (I'll put a warning at the top if necessary). Welcome to the stories I penned down but never plan to expand upon.
1. Harry Potter

"She's like a sister. I love her like a sister."

You don't know if those words are true. The boy you consider to be family is sobbing before you as his biggest fear is revealed. You've always known about his inferiority complex; you never realized how deeply it ran. The girl he loves - the girl you both love, if you're honest - very obviously loves him back. She cried for him. For days - weeks - she was heartbroken over the boy you think of as a brother.

But she's not your sister; she's never been your sister.

You love him too much to even admit out loud that you want what he so clearly has. You want his loving family, his wonderfully overbearing mother, his warm and comfortable home, the beautiful girl who blindly adores him. He's your brother; he offered you his home as your sanctuary, his family as your own. Barely having anything himself, he gave you so much without realizing it.

But she has always stuck by you. You gave her your friendship and she gave you her heart and soul. Never once did she doubt you; not when students claimed you were the Heir of Slytherin, nor when you were put in the Triwizard Tournament, not even when it came to choosing between Ron and you. _She chose you_. How could you not love her for that?

Not like a sister. Never like a sister.

It's been a long time since you've fallen for her - now that you're admitting it to yourself. The little things were what did you in. The way she lit up when she learned something new. How radiant she became when she got a spell down perfectly. Her wit, her caring nature, the bossiness that came from respect and love. She is everything good and kind in the world.

And Ron - Ron doesn't deserve her. To be fair, you don't believe you deserve her either, but Ron purposefully goes out of his way to hurt her. When she went to the ball with Krum (you weren't happy about it, either), he ruined her night out of jealousy. Ron, who had mocked her familiar endlessly, called her a know-it-all, wounded her self-esteem, constantly argued against her and brought her down, has earned her love. It slowly destroys you, burns you from the inside to see her transform around him. To laugh and be free like she's never been before. The love you have will incinerate the friendship you have with Ron, along with his entire family. That's _your_ biggest fear.

Ginny turns out to be the answer to your prayers.

You fall for her while you're repressing feelings for _her_. Ginny's beautiful, full of life; she understands you, never pressures you, and doesn't question when your eyes stray toward the brown-eyed girl in the corner. You feel light around her and it's easy to forget you keep dreaming of soft, bushy hair.

It won't help anyone at this point to admit how you really feel.

* * *

Six years after the war (and your realization of falling in love with Hermione Jean Granger), you watch the love of your life marry your best friend. You sit with your wife on your arm, your newborn son bouncing happily on her lap as the newlyweds circle around the dance floor, completely and obliviously in love. You grin and offer well-wishes. You genuinely mean them, you think. You are at peace with your life - in love with your woman and your son. It no longer burns to watch _her_ kiss _him_.

And all is well.


	2. Draco Malfoy

**Some say the world will end in fire,**

She embodies warmth. Everything about her is radiant - her hair, eyes, smile. She looks at him with those whiskey colored eyes and he burns from the inside.

 **Some say in ice.**

He was raised to be cold, cruel, to relish in the pain of others. An only child, he learned to be spoiled and to expect the world to owe him all its' wonders.

 **From what I've tasted of desire**

They clash with teeth and tongue. Hate twists and spirals and maliciously forms into lust. Each hates the other; each loves the other, in their own way. Barely sixteen - holding the weight of the world on their shoulders. They find solace in their mutual despair.

 **I hold with those who favor fire.**

She's sister to the boy-who-lived. The savior of the wizarding world. A target is automatically set on her back, and most are eager to kill the brightest witch of the age. If he could bet on the outcome of the war, he would put all his galleons on her. She's bright and brilliant; deadly too, he learns, with a wicked sense of justice and revenge.

 **But if it had to perish twice,**

His father led an attack that nearly stole her life. Dolohov left her scarred. His mother is threatened because of his father's failure. It occurs to him that those he calls family would've murdered six teenagers without thought. He doesn't feel as high or untouchable as before - it leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

 **I think I know enough of hate**

They throw slurs at each other for years; mudblood and ferret, bitch and arse - the swotty shrew and the pompous twit. Each taking pride in the others pain. Soon, they realize they can't hide their truths. They hate because they love - they're protecting the other.

 **To say that for destruction ice**

His forearm is marred when they are fifteen. Born to a family he had no control over. A life chosen he never wished for. People sneer in the streets and shout threats. Quite suddenly, he realizes they are one and the same. Never before has he loathed himself so greatly. She deserves so much more than he can give; so much _better_ than he can be. He hopes she'll never leave, regardless.

 **Is also great**

They both lose friends; they both share scars in the same places. Inside, they are twisted and angry and damaged. They mourn their losses. Slowly, they find their way back from depression and crash into each other. Together, they rebuild their lives and learn how to properly _love_.

 **And would suffice.**

Naturally, the world as they know it implodes when the Prophet snags the unsolicited photograph where Hermione's arms are wound tightly around Draco's neck, their lips glued in a frenzy.

But fire and ice (despite their differences) go hand-in-hand.


	3. Luna Lovegood

It was all over. They've won the war. Voldemort was defeated, his body currently being cremated as she sits there, just outside the Great Hall. She doesn't feel relief, or happiness, or anything at all; she feels rather numb. Hunched over, she cradles her knees to her chest while staring blankly at the stone floor beneath her sneakers.

Harry had been dragged into the Hospital Wing by Ginny and Madame Pomfrey quickly after his victory. Both were worried that there might be lasting effects after his death, and the boy-who-lived was simply too stunned to fight them off like he normally would.

A loud sob echoed throughout the hall, sending a shiver down her spine. Recalling the devastated, agonized face of Mrs. Weasley after she saw Fred's body was something she would never be able to forget. Ron was still in there with his brothers and parents, trying to comprehend the loss to their family.

Scruffy shoes appeared in her vision. Glancing up, she gave a half-smile to the blonde girl. They both know it's false. "Mind if I sit with you?" The dreamy voice questioned.

Nodding, Hermione scooted over a few inches to give the younger girl more space. Luna patted her hand as she took the spot, stretching her denim clad legs out; the pink jeans have been burned and cut, and a peculiar shade of green is coating the right ankle. Noticing her curious stare, Luna explains, "I had a particularly uncomfortable run-in with an arcomantula."

Hermione's lip twitches - because how could it not, Luna never fails to be interesting, even when she sounds, well... _Loony_.

The crying from the hall grows closer and then suddenly the doors are flung open, Mr. Weasley and Bill taking the lead as Fleur and Percy levitate _Fred_ with Ron supporting George's weight behind them. Her breath is caught in her throat as she sees George. He's in _agony_. His expression brings tears to her eyes. It's... _beyond pain_ , far past torture. This is utter _devastation_ , and she honestly doesn't understand how he can be _standing_ like that.

"My mum told me once that the horrible parts in our lives don't matter," Luna says softly, and it doesn't sound dreamy or far-away. For once, the girl seems grounded and serious. It's oddly jarring. "The events leading up don't matter, either. What matters is what comes after, what we choose to make out of the wreckage; _that's_ what counts."

Hermione weakly smiles. "I'd like to believe that, Luna."

"It will be okay. It won't feel like it for a long, long time. They'll miss Fred like crazy, as will all the others who lost a loved one. But that's what the human spirit is built for: endurance. They'll all endure the pain until it's no longer crushing, and then it _will_ hurt much, much less," Luna says solemnly. " _Hope anchors the soul,_ after all. It hurt for years when my mum died... but she wouldn't have ever liked that. Fred was a brilliant, kind soul, like my mum; he'd despise people mourning for him for too long. Eventually even George will realize that."

Tears flow freely as Hermione blindly reaches out to grab Luna's hand tightly. She wouldn't be surprised if she was cutting off the circulation. "I really, really hope that's true."


	4. Tom Riddle

She was trained for this moment. Standing above him - beaten and bloodied with a nasty cut above her brow and several cracked ribs - wand leveled at his heart. _Avada Kedavra_. Such simple words. She knows them by heart; performed the curse time after time after time to prepare her. To numb her to the agonizing pain of taking someone's life.

After the battle of Hogwarts ended - along with Harry Potters life - the wizarding world of Britain was thrown into destruction. All of those that couldn't escape quickly enough were killed. The Weasley family was wiped out completely, every adult member of the Order was murdered as examples of those who tried to resist, and she herself was taken captive to be tortured into insanity publicly.

Since Bellatrix died in battle, the third in command was given charge of the eighteen-year-old. Thorfinn Rowle took immense delight in tormenting the girl. He cruciated her, pulled her fingernails out, beat her, spat on her, starved her, froze her half to death, whipped her. Then he'd heal her, leave her be for just long enough and start all over again.

Surprisingly, Lucius Malfoy is the one to save Hermione - slitting Rowle's throat in the process. The man has seen his son consumed by madness and his wife seized to be used over and over by higher ranking minions. He wants only one thing: blood. Together with Tiberius Avery, they cultivated the woman, destroying and rebuilding her. They ruined her; they made her _great_. On her twenty-fifth birthday, they gave her the final orders, along with a trunk filled with conservative clothing and a jewel-encrusted time-turner.

Her task was simple. She executed it flawlessly. Gaining Augustus Rookwood's interest took less than thirty-six hours; earning his trust took exactly six months, fourteen days, and a gaudy emerald engagement ring. The Unspeakable adored her wild, carefree nature (a front, of course) and fell both quickly and hard. They were planning a September wedding for that same year - announcements were made, invitations prepped - when the happy couple were tragically attacked by a Manticore. Luckily, the bride escaped unscathed due to quick thinking. Her husband-to-be, unfortunately, died of massive internal and external injuries.

Poor chap was hardly recognizable by the end.

The funeral was held two weeks later. His estate was a rather large one, being the orphaned child to wealthy pure blooded parents. It's here that she plays the heartbroken fiancée as she meets the most deadly dark lord to date. Not that Tom Riddle - at age twenty-four - could claim the skill to level an entire wizarding country.

 _But she could_.

Tom Riddle takes longer to intrigue; he's a much more complicated man. She plays coy without being obvious; flirtatious yet distant; innocent with a touch of the true danger poking through. Eventually (seven months later), Tom asks her to lunch. They chat and debate their political views and are in a shouting match by the end of it, both their hands twitching towards their wands.

When he drops her off at her apartment, he invites her to dinner that evening.

Three years go by similarly. Neither trusts the other - for good reason. They spend the entirety of those months looking for the others weakness. Neither claims fondness or love, but they know they won't kill the other. Not yet.

Not until Tom invites her to a meeting that he's hosting. Then she knows it's time to reveal her full abilities.

She slaughters five of his followers without blinking. Lestrange, Avery, Crabbe, Montgomery, and _Rowle_. He smirks and proudly offers her a place in his army. Grinning, she _accepts_.

Precisely thirty four months, ten days, and nine hours later, she has him collapsed on the floor in a pool of his own blood, his wand shattered by her foot, his stomach sliced open and his lung probably punctured.

With the words on the tip of her tongue - she's been waiting over a decade for this moment - Tom glances up. His dark, dangerous eyes glare at her with anger and fear and distrust and _betrayal_. "Why?" He coughs out - definitely a lung injury, she thinks. "We had such great plans."

Hermione chuckles, low and deadly. "I know you, Tom. I know who - what - you become. The world doesn't _need_ a serial killer to be _controlled_."

"What does it need then?" He sneers before hacking up a fair amount of blood. " _You_? Don't make me laugh, Hermione."

She taps her wand with her finger lightly. _Together_. It's something she's been considering for some time now, but she doesn't know if he will accept her as an equal -

"What the world needs is _our combined genius_ ," Tom's half-lying now, too weak and pale and dizzy to hold himself up.

She hesitates.

"You'd have to give up hunting muggleborns."

"Done," he wheezes. "You know that's only for the purists. We'll just kill them."

Nodding, she agrees. "No murdering children, either. We're above that."

His nose scrunches in disgust. "I wouldn't stoop so low, Granger."

"Just promise me," she urges him, wand steadily aimed at his heart. "Promise you won't betray me."

His gaze is heavy and meaningful and _intense_ as he meets hers.

"I swear on my magic, Hermione Jean Granger, I will not betray you for as long as I live."

Her arm drops and she lunges, kissing him fiercely as he pulls her so close she can't breathe.

* * *

They set the world on _fire_ without anyone realizing they've done so.


	5. Upon a Dream

There are intentional time jumps between Tom and Hermione's perspective - sorry in advance if that's confusing.

* * *

 _"From this slumber, she shall wake, when true love's kiss, the spell shall break."_

* * *

His hand twitched from anticipation.

All his planning, the careful consideration, the painstaking lengths taken to watch them, to memorize their schedule and know their every move. It would all come down to a single moment, the moment they would die. The very instant that he killed them.

He'd never murdered someone before. He had plans, of course, to open the Chamber of Secrets and fulfill his rightful duty as Heir of Salazar Slytherin himself, but those would play out later. For he admired symbolism and hidden meanings, and he wants _their_ blood to be his recompense.

His filthy, _dirty_ muggle father and muggle grandparents, to be exact.

Tom has been cautious, exceptionally so. His maternal uncle, a pitiful drunk, took barely an ounce of thinking. Any power that Morfin Gaunt possessed had long since abandoned him. Planting the memory of Morfin casting the killing curse at all three muggles was simple. Almost sixteen, Tom had already mastered legilimency. Occlumency had taken a bit longer, but the past five years at Hogwarts had taught him that patience and secrecy were needed around Albus Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor.

And so, on the evening before his return to Hogwarts for his sixth year, Tom Riddle found himself standing outside the mansion where his father resided. It was because of this _muggle_ that he existed. Tom considered this the one redeeming factor of the bloke, although he still wished for his death by his hand.

The door creaked open ominously as he whispered, " _Alohamora_."

It stank of wealth. From the ornate, twisted gold and silver chandelier with the glittering gems strung carefully to make them shine, even at night, to the marble double staircase that wrapped around the aforementioned metal.

Tom's yew wand itched to destroy every bit of the home.

"Tommy, darling, is that you?"

An elderly woman poked her head around the corner. She was dressed in a modest nightgown, her hair pinned up and large, thick glasses covering dark, familiar eyes.

She smiled weakly, bringing her hand to her chest. "You gave me a fright, my darling son. Come in before you catch-"

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," he drawled, lifting his arm and watching as the emerald green shot out of his beloved wand. Her wide, dark eyes, the same as his, widened for just a second before the woman collapsed in a heap on the beautiful floor.

The loud thud resonated throughout the house. He heard movement coming from the west, along with shouts.

" _Mary_!"

" _Mum_!"

Tom ducked away into a shadowed corner, watching as his father and grandfather came to witness the body of his grandmother. Tall figures skittered into the hall, gasping as they took notice of the still woman. "Mary!" the older man cried helplessly. "Oh my – Mary! Mary, wake up! Thomas – send for Jeremy, have him call-"

" _Father_."

Both heads snapped toward the voice, the youngest of the three stepping from the shadowy corner. Immediately, Thomas Riddle started for him menacingly, his grief palpable. Tom coolly raised his wand. The older paused, tilting his head like a canine before his gaze widened in fear. "I recognize that - that bit of wood. You're like _her_ , aren't you?"

Tom grinned humorlessly. "I'd wager I'm a bit like _you_ , as well - _dad_ ," he spat mockingly.

"You should've never come here. I got rid of her years ago, once she told me about you. Figured she would've died and brought you with her, the little _bitch_ was so frail."

Slowly, he began advancing on the angry man. His paternal grandfather was frozen, his tears tracing silently down his skin as he alternated between glancing at his son and his fallen wife. "Frail, you say?"

Nodding, the older Tom glared at his son. "You weren't born out of love, boy. I don't know why you've come here, but I demand you leave. I will give you nothing: no money, no food, no shelter. I won't have a freak in my home." Turning his attention to his own father, the man began discussing what to do about the woman between them when the younger Tom coughed lightly. "Leave, you insolent boy!" the man growled.

"There's nothing to be done with her," Tom said softly. "She was dead before she hit the floor. I killed her, see. With my _freakish_ , _magical_ powers. The same that my _fragile_ , _frail_ mother had before she died giving birth to me. That's why I've come." Tom began pacing slowly around the pair, his gaze taking in the grandeur while his wand stayed trained on their forms. "I dislike muggles – non-magical folk, such as yourselves – I'd say I rather _hate_ people like you. The orphanage I grew up in hosted the worst of the lot, in my opinion. Muggles are filthy, dirty, pathetic creatures. You have no magic. You're the lesser race – the lower species. I despise the fact that my father was a muggle.

"About a year ago, I stumbled upon a tome that I was most interested in. I admit – I have a fear of death. Killing, I have no qualms with. But I consider myself a higher being, even for a wizard. Immortality is something I've already attained. But one isn't enough for me; no, I fancy the most magical number of protections… seven Horcruxes. Not that idiotic _beasts_ like you will ever know what this means." Tom smiled grimly, his lips twisted in a mock of a wide grin. "I will, however, use your death to my advantage, dear father."

The elder Tom barely had time to angrily open his mouth before the younger cast his curse twice at the men. " _Avada Kedavra_!"

* * *

She'd found him completely by accident.

It was her second year at Hogwarts, and the young Gryffindor found herself in an uncharacteristic bout of clumsiness. She should've known better than to try reading and walking, especially around the second floor washroom, where Peeves was known to hide out.

Ron and Harry had found her after the Quidditch match, the water-soaked floor giving an explanation as to why their bushy-haired friend wasn't waking up. Madam Pomfrey explained that Hermione had slipped, careening backwards and consequently smashed her head into the stone floor. It had caused a minor amount of brain damage, which led to her body shutting down and leaving her in a coma.

Hermione had stayed in such a state for nearly two weeks. The Hospital Wing wasn't equipped to handle such a serious case and had promptly shipped her off to St. Mungo's. The ward she woke up in, long-term care, only held one other patient. A boy.

At the age of thirteen, Hermione still hadn't yet found what the appeal to boys were. Yes, she'd noticed that some were better looking than others, but she enjoyed Harry and Ron's friendship much more than she would if they were silly crushes. Harry's mum and dad hadn't gotten together until their seventh year, and Potioneer Lily Potter was maddeningly brilliant. If it hadn't appealed to her muggleborn idol, it wouldn't for her as well.

But the boy struck a chord with her, and so she crept quietly over to his bed. It was painful, her head still ached, but she was a determined young thing. The ward itself wasn't expansive, maybe holding ten beds if they squeezed a bit. She crossed the space in seconds and was careful to keep distance between the prone figure and herself.

He was young, barely seventeen, and in his resting state he seemed untouchable. His skin was pale and smooth, almost marble looking in it's inaction. There was a chart resting behind his head. With trembling fingers, Hermione eased the clipboard off the hook and, after glancing around to ensure she wasn't being watched, began to read.

* * *

The pain was agonizing.

His chest was constricting, his lungs compressing, his heart beating four times it's usual pace. His research spoke nothing of this – this was debilitating, bone-aching, terrible, horrible pain. Crying out, Tom dropped to his knees, his dead father only paces from his position. The agony gripped him, the haze causing him to clutch his throat and squeeze in the hopes of deadening any pain receptors from the fire within his veins.

With the last drop of energy Tom had, he managed to push off the ground and twist, using his magic to propel him to the coordinates he knew Hogwarts to roughly be.

A tube sucked him up, stealing the last of his breath and crushing his bones until he began to see stars, before it suddenly relented and he was thrown like a ragdoll. Tom felt his arm collide with the rough ground, his back arched as it was the next to be attacked, and finally his neck twisted.

He fell to the ground just before Hogwarts' gate, attracting the attention of the shoppers nearby, his pulse still.

* * *

She never forgot about the boy in the hospital wing, or about his magically induced coma; she'd never imagined someone could completely skip aging, but he'd done it, evidently with a rare and dangerous bit of magic. The healers had managed to stabilize his broken neck, preventing paralysis, but healing hadn't been as advanced as it was now. Wizarding Health Weekly suggested that Head Healer Marlene Black was breaking ground on cases such as Thomas Riddle's, but Hermione was doubtful. The boy's neck had snapped, severing the spinal cord and literally killing him for several minutes before healer's were able to attend to him.

No one could come back from the _dead_.

Her third and fourth years passed by without any further injuries, saving her from visiting the hospital wing, save for the odd Pepper-Up potion. She'd met Harry's godfather, along with his famous wife, and both his parents at their annual end-of-summer party just before their third year. James Potter worked beside his wife, Lily Potter, with her business; having taken over from his own father, Fleamont Potter, Hermione could attest that their product – Sleakeasy's – worked amazingly well. The newest bottle had been produced in a spray, a nod to Lily's muggle roots, and Hermione was the happy owner of several dozen bottles, having been brought on as an official tester for the company. Needless to say, Hermione was forever grateful for the easy fix to massive, frizzy, coarse hair.

Fourth year, Hermione had watched along with her friends as Cedric Diggory barreled through the Triwizard Tournament, earning the monetary prize and the eternal glory of winning the famed competition. She'd accompanied Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball, much to Ron's disbelief and Harry's support, and prepared herself for a rigorous fifth year.

Naturally, the week of the O.W.L.s – after the months and months of endless, concentrated studying – Hermione found herself again in the spell-damage ward at St. Mungo's.

It'd hardly been her fault. How was she expected to know that mixing a Pepper-Up potion with an Invigoration Draught would cause a preemptive heart attack, causing her to collapse during her Charms examination? She'd taken the recommended doses and had been careful to space them out – there were no warnings about the effects of ingesting stewed mandrake and bicorn horn, despite both potions using parts of the mandrake.

Three weeks into the summer hols, Hermione was finally released and able to retake her exams. As she was packing up, her gaze found itself roaming toward the back, as it had every day prior. The boy was just as still as he'd been years ago. "I wonder what happened to you," she stated softly, eyes on the motionless form. Struck by the sudden urge, Hermione quit packing her small number of items and walked over to the boy, standing beside him with her hand stretching out over his skin. "It must be terrible. They say that you're still alive… but, honestly, I can't see how."

Carefully, Hermione brushed her fingers across the boy's forehead.

* * *

He heard the rustling of movement, different than every day motions, above his head.

No small touch came on his forehead, his arm, his chest, so he didn't put much stock in it.

Time was slipping by, passing through him without regard.

He couldn't focus much.

There wasn't anything to focus on.

* * *

Hermione visited several times that summer.

She didn't speak often, choosing instead to watch and wonder about who Thomas Riddle was, and what he'd been like before. Did he go by Thomas, or perhaps shortened to be Tom? She'd looked him up in the Hogwarts directory once in third year - he'd been quite the scholar, top of his class with twelve O.W.L.s, the lowest being an Exceeds Expectations in Divination. It would be wonderful to have a friend like him - none of her own particularly cared about education as she did.

Harry and Ron were more concerned with Quidditch, despite their family's respective successful careers. Harry's younger sister Iris was following in their mum's footsteps, known in the school for her brilliant potions mind; their little brother, David, might've only been a first year, but he could calculate integrals like Hermione had never seen. He'd been accepted into the Arithmancy course despite his age, showing capabilities far beyond even seventh year N.E.W.T students.

Ron's brothers were each successful in their career fields. Fred and George had started a joke shop, and already their business was booming. They'd conferred with a financial advisor and estimated an expansion to Hogsmeade within two years - no small feat, considering their propensity during school for trouble making. Percy had been promoted to Assistant for the Undersecretary of the Minister for Magic; it sounded boring, but the work he was able to do was incredible. He'd just met the Albanian Ambassador to Magic several weeks prior, along with a representative of the Magical Congress in the States. Bill was head of his department at Gringotts, working alongside with his new fiancé, and Charlie was being considered for the lead spot at the Reserve in Scotland, which Mrs. Weasley was actively pushing for.

The youngest - and only daughter - of the Weasley family, Ginny, was Harry's girlfriend. Not only was she incredible at Defense, she was brilliant at Quidditch - she was the star Chaser, and once filled in for Harry as Seeker and caught the Snitch in record time - and was being scouted by the Holyhead Harpies to the amazement of all due to her young age.

No one, save perhaps Percy, shared Hermione's love of learning.

* * *

He heard the voices around him, swirling through his mind like smoke.

"- think he'll ever wake up."

"Poor lad, so hand-"

"- better today -"

Nothing interested him. It didn't catch his attention. It couldn't.

* * *

She was beginning to attract attention from her increasingly frequent visits. Mrs. Black, in particular, seemed to watch her with a pensive frown more often than not. She didn't care. The boy struck a cord with her - loneliness was something she was intimately familiar with. It was something she both loathed and accepted. Sometimes she felt like she'd drown in it.

So she began talking to Thomas. She explained that her parents were muggle dentists, that they adored her magic and always spoiled her on their holidays together. She told Thomas that she was thinking about a career in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; that despite Defense Professor Remus Lupin advancing werewolf rights by advocating, and having the backing of Albus Dumbledore himself, other creatures were poorly neglected. That Draco Malfoy, a horrible bully and incredibly spoiled child, had gotten his equally horrid girlfriend Pansy up the duff - the howler they'd received at the end of term was probably still echoing throughout Hogwarts, much to her hidden amusement. She told stories about her friends, and her friends' friends, explaining that she was an only child so it could get overwhelming when attending a Potter, Black, Longbottom, or Weasley family event. She detailed her list of heroes - both muggle and magical - with Emmeline Vance-Shacklebolt at the very top; she'd paved the true way for muggleborn students at Hogwarts, having set up an orientation and fostering program for those without magical parents.

By the end of her thirty-fourth visit, Hermione began to call him Tom.

* * *

"I wonder what happened to you."

The voice was clear, concise, with a heavy emphasis on dictation. It sliced through his gaze like a knife, gutting his indifference and making his mind alert. The voice was melodic, soft, gentle.

"They say you're alive, but honestly... I can't see how."

His hands ached to scramble, to grasp for the skin of the angel (or demon) that broke through the spells. Did she come on behalf of Death? Was she there to be his salvation?

Then fingers were lightly dragging over his skin, and he was on fire. Every nerve ending was alight, sparking, feeling like they hadn't in years. He felt the touch leave him and he tried to call out as the ice washed over him, cooling back to the freezing he'd long become accustomed to. He strained his ears to pick up on her sound - anything - but he knew intuitively that his angel (demon) was gone.

His chest bottomed out as the fog washed over him once more.

* * *

"I wonder what your favorite subjects were, Tom."

Hermione had brought her new school books this trip. With only three weeks before the term started, she was anxious to begin preparing for the N.E.W.T.s, despite them being two years away.

"I received twelve O.W.L.s , I just got my letter to notify me. Mum and dad were so proud. They're taking me to Australia for Christmas - they've always wanted to go, and it's supposed to be a bit more warm, which will be nice."

She paused, turning slightly anxious. "I won't be able to visit much longer. Hogwarts starts back up soon, and sixth year is supposed to be very important. I've got to stay focused on my studies." Hermione reached out with the pace of a snail before grabbing onto his hand, the skin cold to the touch. "I'll miss you. I'm hoping I can squeeze a few more visits in before term starts."

"Miss," her head swirled to glance at the healer behind the duty station, who looked apologetic. This one - Miriam - seemed a bit more sympathetic to Hermione's visits than a few of the others. "Visiting hours ended about fifteen minutes ago, I was trying to give you as much as I could, but..." she trailed off as her eyes snapped on to the form behind Hermione, inhaling sharply. Worried, the witch whirled around to catch Tom's usual motionless form. "I-I swear I thought... I don't know why, but I could've sworn he moved?"

Hermione noted the lift at the end of her words. Shaking her head, surprised at the disappointment she felt, she stood back from the bed and gathered her bag. "I didn't feel anything. It's probably just the light. I've thought the same before."

Miriam stared at Thomas' frozen form for several minutes before jotting a quick note down, intending on bringing her half-plotted theory to Healer Black.

* * *

He was drowning.

The crashing of the waves brought him down. He loathed and lived for her visits. For the reprieve from the mindlessness, the blank void of thoughts and feelings. When she was with him, touching him, speaking to him - he could breathe, floating on the water.

But when she left, a tidal wave dragged him under, the tsunami crashing over him, the never-ending onslaught tearing at his sanity.

Now he was convinced she was a devil-in-disguise as his angel.

* * *

Healer Black was sitting in the girls usual spot when Hermione barged through the door, hand tightly wound around her bag strap. She froze at the sight of the older woman.

"Hello Hermione," she smiled kindly at the younger girl. "It's wonderful to see you. How long has it been? At least two years, I'm sure."

Cautiously, the Gryffindor edged her way past the reception area. "I think the last time was Hunter's ninth birthday."

Marlene snapped her fingers and grinned. "That's right - so only one, then. Not terrible, all things considered. How've you been feeling since your own stint in here? Not pushing yourself too hard, I hope?"

Shaking her head, she moved to the chair opposite her regular - directly facing Marlene. "No, ma'am. My mum and dad are making sure of that."

"Good, good. And how are they? Still planning on expanding their practice?"

"Yes, ma'am," she nodded. "They've found a few locations that they like. We've planned a holiday to visit and scope them out."

Still smiling genially, Marlene purposefully dropped her gaze to the boy lying sedimentary between them. "I'd wager you have a guess as to why I'm here, love."

Hermione's shoulders slouched. "You don't want me visiting anymore, I assume. Harry mentioned that his mum asked about it, why I was coming so often. I wasn't planning on doing anything. I just - I like the quiet, is all."

"I'm far more familiar with needing peace than you'd think. My husband is, quite possibly, the most self-depreciating person that I know, despite my best efforts to help him overcome his raising. I often resorted to hexing him before we had our children - now I simply throw the first one I see toward him when he's in his moods. I'm not here to ask you to stop, though."

"You're not?"

" _Actually_ , I was hoping you'd increase your visits for the next few days - allow me to observe."

Her gaze narrowed. "Why? Have you found a breakthrough?"

Marlene weighed her words carefully. "There's potentially a lead that I intend to follow."

"And that lead includes me?"

"You should've been in my house, I swear," Marlene laughed, relaxing in her chair. "Sharpest mind that I've seen in years, since Lily - maybe even more so. Don't tell her I said that, though. Fiercely competitive, that one. If she felt that her position of smartest swot in the room was being threatened, I'm sure she'd feel the need to challenge you to a theoretical Charms debate. I'll spare you the horrors of that mad woman."

Marlene paused here, taking in her oppositions demeanor. Tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, the mother of three smiled. "You're very kind to let me natter on and on. I'll cut to the chase, shall I?

"I believe that our friend Thomas reacts to you. Whether it's a chemical reaction to your touch, a magical reaction of your cores, I'm not sure. My assistant, Miriam, has taken detailed records of... occurrences when Thomas has moved. Every single instance has been when you've either touched or spoken to him. That's a pattern I'd like to see for myself."

Flustered, Hermione twisted her fingers in her lap. "That-it isn't entirely like that. He moves sometimes on his own, even when I'm not near him."

Marlene smiled reassuringly. "I'm not trying to put you on a pedestal as the savior for this boy. From a medical perspective, I'm simply looking to see if there's any conducive change when someone is near. You just happen to be the common factor in all of the instances. It doesn't mean that you're the correlation; it very well may be at random."

"And if it's not?"

"Well, then, I think we found our cure."

* * *

It was terribly lonely. Black was all he'd known for so long. Nothing interested him; nothing but her, he should say.

Where the monotony was dull and colorless, she was bright, like fireworks. Lighting up his night sky with her purples and oranges and magentas.

His magic screamed out for hers; it roared and struggled and yearned to get free. Splashing against his, he knew he'd met his match.

 _I know you_ , Tom longed to cry out.

It felt too much like a dream.

Or a nightmare.

* * *

"Do you believe in fairy tales?"

Startled, brown eyes met dancing green. Marlene was sprawled out on the bed beside Tom's, her feet propped up on pillows and a package of liqorice wands open on her stomach. Looking every bit an early thirty-something - and not the world renounced innovative Healer that she was - Hermione understood why someone like Sirius Black fell for her. She was terribly pretty, intelligent, witty and mischievous as anyone could be, but was still kind and caring all at once.

"Not like those muggle Disney films. Honest fairy tales, like the Grimms brothers wrote."

Momentarily startled by the witch's knowledge of muggle cinema, Hermione frowned and shrugged, adjusting the hold on her school text as she did. "Not really. It all seemed a bit too perfect and grand."

"Even as a child?" Marlene asked incredulously. Shaking her head, the woman tore a piece of her candy with her teeth; Hermione winced as she imagined the cavities the woman would soon see. "Merlin, that's all Stella wants to do. The chit asked if we could change her name after Anastasia came out. Wouldn't answer to anything but that for three months."

Hermione hesitated, tapping her finger several times before quietly speaking up. "I rather fancied the Little Mermaid, I suppose."

Humming, Marlene nodded her head. "That's a good one. Though I don't see the similarities between that sort of mermaid and actual mermaids, but I suppose the whole point wasn't to terrify children. I adored Sleeping Beauty when I was Ellie's age; the handsome prince slaying a dragon to save my life. My auntie - she married a muggle - snuck me to the local theatre to watch the premiere along with her children. My husband recreated a scene like that for our wedding, only with Remus as the dragon and James as Aurora."

She burst out laughing. "Not you?"

Mirthful, Marlene shook her head while smirking broadly. "Nope, he felt it wouldn't be authentic enough. I don't think he told James that the role of Aurora required a dress, wig, Sleeping Draught, or a wet kiss to provide the antidote."

Giggling, she tried to picture the scene in her minds eye. "I've got pictures," Marlene teasingly offered.

"Brilliant," Hermione grinned.

* * *

Her voice was melodic. It was like a source of light, energy, life. He was feeding off her presence; growing stronger by the day and more self-aware by the hour.

Her name was Hermione. She was born to dentists - muggles - but was of higher intelligence and worth, in his opinion. Well-read, well-bred, intelligent, witty, and thoughtful were all qualities he learned she possessed. The advanced Arithmetic equations she practiced with ease were proof her her mind. The pause she took between reading a homework assignment out loud and answering showed her thoughtfulness.

The hand she kept locked tightly in his was something he couldn't quite figure out.

Another woman often joined her, a familiar voice. A Black, from the people who call her off for duty, and a healer to boot.

For the first time, Tom wonders how long that he's been this way.

* * *

"I'm not suggesting entirely that you're his prince, but..."

"You're practically stating I'm his savior."

"... _t_ _echnically_."

He'd moved no less than thirty-seven times within the eight hours that Hermione visited. Sighing, the girl pushed her hair back in an attempt to tame it. Already it had escaped the tight braid she'd wound it into.

"Just try it? What could it hurt?"

"My pride?" Hermione was incredulous. "You're suggesting I kiss a half-dead boy. That's sexual assault! The boy can't consent to it - how do we even know I'm his sort of type?"

Marlene shrugged. "His magic reacts to you. That's certainly a sign, if I've ever seen one."

Breathing heavily, Hermione groaned as her ethics warred within her mind. "Alright," she acquiesced, letting out a sigh so deep it caused her chest to ache. "I'll try your plan."

With tact, Marlene gave a small grin and backed out of the room, gesturing for the nurse to follow her. "Let me know if you need anything, love."

* * *

His heart was beating wildly in his chest.

Her voice was closer than it had ever been. Carefully, he strained to listen to her words and conversations. Pulse racing, his magic was strong and searching for her.

Twitching his fingers, he managed to grasp to her own as she moved them nearer; he doubted she noticed. He was growing stronger.

"I'm sorry about this, Tom." Whatever it was, she was forgiven. "It's probably stupid to think this would work." If there's anything he knows, it's that she's anything but stupid. "At least this will be unforgettable."

* * *

Hesitantly, Hermione slowly brought her lips down onto his. Pressing lightly, she closed her eyes at the overwhelming rush of rightness. His lips were soft, warm, melding perfectly with her own.

Moving against her own.

Hermione gasped, righting herself immediately as she sprung backwards, staring at the face she'd studied for countless hours and days. The eyes that she'd constantly wondered about - what color they were, what shape did they have, were they warm, expressive? - were dark and alert as they watched her.

His lips, inviting and supple, were quirked on one side, as though he was wanting to laugh, or scream, or cry, or do something.

He inhaled.

The clock was the only noise for several moments.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

"Hi," she exhaled, not having realized she'd been holding her breath. "Oh my - oh my god! You're - mother of Merlin - what? How? You... and... I did, and you did... and - **_HELP_**!" The last word she screamed in utter panic as the girl watched Tom's eyes slide shut when his body fell limp in the bed.

The heart monitor, previously beeping steadily with a strong pulse, went dead.

" _MARLENE_!"

* * *

He was moved to the Infirmary at Hogwarts. It was determined that Hermione was integral to his recovery. Sixty-plus-years in a coma caused him to be sluggish and lose his train of thought frequently, but when the brown-eyed girl stood next to him, he was suddenly sharp and vivacious once more. He jokingly called her his drug.

"Tom?" she questioned him late one night in November. He grunted and swiveled to face her. He's able to sit upright without pain, and can even take several steps before fatigue overtakes him. "Why me?"

He doesn't answer for so long that she wonders if he's fallen asleep again - he's done it when he's pushed himself too hard.

"Your demons play well with mine, I suppose."

Grinning, she leaned over and kissed him soundly.

It had stopped being an action she provided to assist with his recovery after a mere fourteen touches.

* * *

 _I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream._

* * *

My mind refused to do anything until I wrote this out.


End file.
